


Chicago Outfit

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Chicago Gangster AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is an assassin and a thug for one of Chicago's gang leaders, Danarius. Whist doing a job he runs into Hawke - Athenril's main thug and rumoured heartless killer. But the guy spares his life, offers him a job, asks to meet for drinks. Anything could happen - it's 1930, it's Prohibition era Chicago, and Fenris has a blade in his pocket and a penchant for surviving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So from the get-go: I am an Australian, everything I have learned about American History has been online. There may be some wonky facts and some historical inaccuracies, but I hope you enjoy the story.

A jaunty piano tune trickled and echoed into the frigid night air, the darkness of the backstreet slightly lit from the newly-installed fluorescent street lighting, the only other source of light a dim orange glow from the tip of a cigarette. Full lips parted, and Fenris blew a huff of nicotine into the sky, watching as it wafted towards the stars in a shifting dance. 

He fingered the knife in his pocket, running over its edge as he listened to the closing bars of a jazzy song, the next one starting up almost immediately in a rumble of bass and percussion snare. 

Not long now. 

The door burst open as if on cue, a sudden cacophony of sound, boisterous laughter and piano unmuted by the heavy wood. It was silenced again as the door closed, and Fenris threw his cigarette to the puddle-lined alley and stomped it out with the heel of his boot. 

Two men walked straight past his hidden position, one unknown and the other easily recognizable as Fenris’ target, both talking loudly. Fenris’ mouth twisted – it was no good when they were drunk, it made him feel like he was putting down a child or a puppy. There was no fight, no last meaningful words, no desperation. 

As it was, his target’s accomplice barely realized he had been left alone for a good five minutes after Fenris had grabbed his friend and dragged him bodily back into the alleyway.

The man’s eyes were blown wide with surprise, his mouth slack as Fenris pressed the small knife against his throat. 

“From Danarius,” Fenris said softly, applying pressure and watching as the grim red smile appeared against the dirty skin of his neck, from ear to ear, his body going lax, slipping down the wall and landing with a soft _splash_ into a dirty puddle, lending more blood to the permanently wet streets of Chicago. 

Fenris wiped sweat from his upper lip, flicking blood from his knife and then pocketing it. It fell heavy against his thigh, and he spent one more second looking down at the body before he nodded to himself and left the alley, walking into the street and heading back to his boss. 

-

“No problems?” Danarius asked.

“No problems,” Fenris echoed. 

Danarius was very rich and very cruel – these things were facts. He had a dirty beard and olive-toned skin, shrewd eyes and a long nose. He seemed to be always calculating, always patronising, like a disapproving father, a preacher, and a sadist all together in one softly-spoken _asshole_ of a person. His pinstriped suit was streaked with invisible marks of sweat and blood, only noticeable at a certain proximity or in certain lights. 

“Excellent, you’ll receive another mark.” He stated, and Fenris’ jaw clenched as he attempted to look appreciative. 

Danarius had saved Fenris’ mother and sister – these things were also facts, the only facts that mattered to Fenris at this point. If he forgot that, then he wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. Wouldn’t be able to put up with Danarius, wouldn’t be able to mindlessly kill people who had wronged his boss. Wouldn’t be able to pretend to be happy each time he completed a task and Danarius gave him another mark – another _brand._ Another job-well-fucking-done. His skin was a permanent maze of mottled ink, like a snake, like an _instrument_ that Danarius had crafted for the purpose of murder. 

Fenris had been thirteen years old when he had sold himself into Danarius' care, and he had received his first tattoo a week later. These black brands let everyone know who he worked for, what he was, what he had _done_. 

His arms were lined with them, little black markings that were applied with ferocious glee by Danarius’ personal tattoo artist, Hadriana. 

“Move to the boy’s neck,” Danarius suggested when Fenris removed his shirt. 

“Yes, Danarius.” Hadriana grinned, and Fenris bit his tongue as he settled into the seat in front of her, baring his throat to Danarius’ wolf. His knife felt heavy against his thigh, and he pressed his fingers into his pocket to run over and over the cold metal, bearing his pain with the thought of _shoving_ it into Hadriana’s neck. 

“You’ll be working a smuggling job tomorrow, little wolf. There’s some alcohol coming in to the docks in District 44, and I heard Athenril is looking to get her filthy claws onto it. You may run into trouble, take the truck and Anso along.”

Fenris said, “Yes, sir.” What he wanted to say was, “Anso is an idiot, Athenril has the most violent thugs in Chicago, and I wish I could shove this ink-needle down your throat.” 

“Good,” Danarius replied. “If you do well, you can get another mark on the other side of your neck, all symmetric then, right Hadriana?” 

“Mm,” Hadriana answered, and Danarius laughed to himself, standing up and walking over to his desk, lighting himself a cigarette. 

Fenris wanted to ask Danarius if he could perhaps take another employee, but then Hadriana’s needle bit his collarbone, and he hissed instead. 

Perhaps he would die on the mission instead. Perhaps it would be better that way. 

-

A loose, soft bandage was adorning Fenris’ neck when he left for the docks with Anso in tow. A day’s healing only made the tattoo look worse, and he was biting his tongue at every movement his head made, scowling at the thought of living through this entire debacle and having to put up with _another_ tattoo on the other side. 

“Do you think Athenril’s thugs will already be there?” Anso asked, his hands moving against each other, slick with sweat and shaking with nerves. Anso was a good man, and a rubbish thug. It was Fenris’ understanding that he was paying off Danarius some kind of debt to do with a house, but it might have been kinder of Danarius to take a few fingers and call it a day. 

“It’s likely we will arrive around the same time. It’s only an hour dark, and these new street lights are very… illuminating.” 

“I preferred the gas ones,” Anso said, looking out the window and flinching away from a light as they passed it. 

Fenris suppressed a sigh, turning the wheel into a side street and hoping that Anso, at least, made it out alive. 

They approached the docks slowly, Fenris keeping his eyes open for movement. Even after they had parked the truck things seemed suspiciously quiet, no sound, and no shadows creeping along containers. The smell of seafood permeated in the air, mixing with the ozone-smell of chilled evening, burning Fenris’ nose as he decided they may as well get it over with. 

He sighed, anticipating an ambush as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and began counting containers, getting closer to the place where Danarius said the boxes would be. 

Remarkably, they were still there. Upon wrenching one open, Fenris could see the coveted amber liquid inside, and he hefted one box into his arms, gesturing for Anso to do the same with the remaining box. 

As he turned, however, he saw Anso running at full speed _away_ from the truck, being chased by a shadowy figure. 

“Shit,” Fenris muttered, noting the other figures that had seemingly materialized, blocking his way to his vehicle, constantly in motion, already moving to find cover.

Fenris side stepped into the shadows of a container, edging along the side, not wanting to drop the box. He made it to the corner, and he stared over the vast expanse of bitumen that stood between him and the truck, knowing full well that at least three of Athenril’s men were cloaked somewhere nearby, possibly right around the corner from where he was standing. 

Fenris bent slowly, the muscles in his legs shivering with exertion as he slowly placed the alcohol on the ground and felt in his pocket for his knife. 

He flicked it out, hearing the low _snick,_ his ears straining to hear any noise. 

A low movement from the corner made Fenris jump, and he swivelled his whole body, pressing his knife quickly to the throat of the man who jumped at the same time as him.

They ended in a stand-off, sharp metal pressed threateningly to the throat of each man, and Fenris took a moment to look at his attacker. 

The man was taller than him, his muscles more thickly banded. He had a well-kept dark beard, and messy dark hair. His eyes were a piercing blue, and a dusting of freckles was high on his cheeks. 

“Well,” he said, swallowing. 

“Well,” Fenris echoed, wanting to jerk away from the cold steel next to his jugular. 

“I have three more men,” The man said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Looks like you win, then.” Fenris answered defiantly, not moving his knife, still staring at the man. 

He had the gall to _chuckle,_ his grin glowing-white in the night-time darkness. 

“Your partner abandoned you,” The man pointed out. 

“He was no fighter.” 

“And you are?”

“Perhaps.” 

They stood in awkward silence, still holding their weapons, still standing perfectly still. 

“My arm is actually getting sore,” The man said. 

Fenris quirked an eyebrow. “So lower it.” He suggested, and the man laughed again. 

“Aveline? Carver?” The man called over his shoulder. “We have an impasse, and a smart one.”

Two bodies came out of the shadows, one of a man who looked remarkably similar to the first, and the other a woman who looked like she could probably snap Fenris in half if the inclination took her. 

“There, now you know you’re outnumbered, let’s lower our knives and talk this out like rational humans.” The man suggested. “Look, I’ll even go first.” 

He slowly lowered his knife, flicking it closed and depositing it into his pocket. He then shrugged at Fenris, who took one more look at the red-headed woman and then followed suit, sighing as he sat on the crate of liquor. 

“My name is Hawke,” the man said.

“Fenris,” he replied, figuring the man may as well know the name of the person he was about to kill. 

“That’s Carver, the woman is Aveline. We work for Athenril, but I suspect you already knew that. Fenris, name sounds familiar.” 

“I work for Danarius.” He explained.

Hawke made a face. “He’s a pig. You should come work for us.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows, pushing his hands into his pockets. “It’s not that simple.” 

Hawke frowned, biting his lip as he considered the smaller man. His eyes seemed soft, somehow, completely non-threatening despite their situation. 

“How about this,” Hawke said carefully. “You take this load, we’ll take the other box. Tell your boss it’s all that was there. Later in the week, maybe I find you with one of these bottles and maybe we have a drink together and discuss the best choices we can make in this depressive, alcohol-free time we live in?”

Fenris looked up at him, the action making his tattooed skin ache. He didn’t really have much of a choice. 

Despite the pain, he nodded. Hawke grinned at him in response, catlike and overly-happy. 

“Brilliant! Well, Fenris, I’ll see you around Thursday for our date.”

“Date,” Fenris repeated, frowning. 

“Bye now!” Hawke said as a way of an answer, walking passed Fenris to get to the docks. Fenris stared after him for a few seconds, but then picked up his crate and walked back to the truck, loading the bottles into the back and then searching his pockets for a cigarette. 

“Is it over?” Anso asked from the back of the truck, where he had at some point climbed in. 

“Not even a little bit,” Fenris answered, inhaling deeply.

“Got another cigarette?”

Fenris threw his pack over his shoulder, starting up the truck and pulling away from the docks, attempting to ignore the movement of three shadowy figures.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke's kind-of-first-date. Enjoy!

Speakeasies were less populated during the day, but that didn’t mean they were empty. In this time, they were rarely empty, so Fenris had three other companions where he sat at the bar.

There was an unspoken kind of rule between them, that if you were drinking bathtub gin at 10 am, then you probably weren’t in the mood for a conversation.

“Fenris,”

The voice was sudden, and all three bar patrons jumped as they turned to face the offending noise-maker.

Hawke was grinning. He had a black eye that was casting half his face into a purple hued maze of broken veins.

“It’s Thursday,” Hawke explained.

“So it is,” Fenris replied, tilting the last of the gin from his glass into his mouth, letting the bitter fluid sit on his tongue before swallowing, his lip quirking at the taste.

“I believe we had a date,” Hawke added, causing the bar tender’s eyebrows to raise and another patron to snort into his drink. Fenris felt a blush rise on his cheeks, and he turned his face down to cover it. “Unless you’re busy, in which case we could reschedule our date-”

“Please stop saying date,” Fenris cut in, looking back over at Hawke to see the man was _grinning._ He seemed like he wasn’t going to stop until Fenris agreed, so he sighed and slipped some coins over the bar, standing from his stool.

“Let’s go then.” Fenris said, stepping towards the door and trusting that Hawke would follow him onto the street.

They walked a few meters in silence, side by side with Fenris scowling and Hawke smiling to himself. Fenris was overly-aware that Athenril’s highest rated thug was directly behind him. He had listened to the rumours after running into him that first night – heard about his brutality, his efficiency. It seemed whenever he mentioned Hawke, the automatic response was simple:

Don’t _fuck_ with him.

Rather than fear, though, Fenris felt an odd mixture of rebellious joy and… safeness. Hawke had all but proclaimed that he was on _Fenris’_ side, and against Danarius. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew he could at least walk in comfort along the street with an assassin trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

“Where are we going?” Hawke asked.

“Somewhere Danarius and Athenril won’t find us.” Fenris muttered, wondering if the consequences he would face if is boss found out were equal or greater than Hawke’s.   
“Athenril knows I’m meeting you, c’mon, I’ll take you to one of her spots.” Hawke said, reaching down to grab Fenris’ hand.

Fenris flinched away but didn’t remove his fingers, letting Hawke’s paw-like hand cover his as they moved at a faster pace down an alleyway and into the dark entrails of Chicago.

It was a hot day, and dappled sunlight was finding its way through the cracks and lines in building roofs, splashing into backstreets and breaking up shadows in startling spots of white and yellow.

Fenris was unsure if Hawke was like this with all his friends, or if he truly was _flirting_ with him. Homosexuality was certainly not unheard of, Fenris could remember male couples holding hands or kissing in the street when he was younger, but it seemed as though it was going out of fashion. Certainly, masculinity seemed a rapidly changing perception, and though he knew of Apartment Parties and bathhouses, he had never… well… with _anyone_. Danarius kept him too busy to consider romance, or even just _sex._ Fenris found he was over-thinking this whole holding-hands situation when he realized that Hawke was trying to talk to him.

“You been to prison, I take it?” Hawke asked as he led them around a corner.

“Haven’t had the pleasure,” Fenris replied mockingly.

“Navy?”

“Are you referring to the tattoos?”

Hawke shot a look behind him, gaging Fenris’ mood by his blunt tone. There was a smirk on his lips though, so Hawke huffed a laugh and nodded.

“Danarius marks me for jobs I have completed.”

Hawke whistled lowly, stopping them outside a red door that looked as though it needed another coat of red.

“That’s brutal.” He said, shaking his head as he knocked three times against the wooden surface.

“Mm,” Fenris replied with a noncommitting shrug.

The door opened to reveal the red-headed woman from the previous night, she was eating a green apple, her hair loose to her shoulders.

“Hawke.” She said bluntly.

“Aveline, you remember Fenris.”

Piercing blue eyes looked over the new-comer with undisguised interest, and she gave a small smile as she nodded. “Welcome,”

“Thank you.”

“So you decided to take Hawke’s offer?”

“He didn’t give me much of a choice.” Fenris replied, and Hawke laughed again as he finally let go of Fenris’ hand, gesturing for him to go inside.

“Wanna drink? We got juice, soda… harder stuff, if you wanna keep your buzz.” Hawke asked as he followed Fenris inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Water is fine,”

“Juice?”

“Water.”

“I’ll get you some juice.”

Fenris sighed, looking around the interior. It was obvious Hawke had bought him to some kind of safe house, there was minimal furniture and a recently-renovated-warehouse kind of feeling to the two-room space.

It was nicer than where Fenris slept, though, and he accepted the juice from Hawke and sat down at the dining table.

“How come you’re here, Aveline?” Hawke asked nonchalantly as he took the seat next to Fenris.

“Athenril has some clients over, you know how she feels about my negotiation skills.”

“About as good as your flirting.”

“At least I’m subtle.”

Hawke shrugged and shot Fenris a grin, like they were both in on some kind of joke. Fenris smiled back before he caught himself, sipping his juice to hide his mouth. So perhaps Hawke _was_ flirting? The whole situation was baffling to Fenris.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Fenris asked casually, putting his juice down. “I assume you didn’t ask me over just for the company.”

“I might have,” Hawke said, smirking. “I wanted to talk to you about working for someone other than Danarius.”

Fenris shrugged. “Though I’m not averse to the idea, it is more a matter of principle. I owe Danarius.”

“Owe him?”

“He saved my sister and mother.” Fenris explained.

“Where are they now?”

“I…” Fenris looked down at his drink. “I don’t know.”

Danarius had assured him of their freedom, that their lives would be better than what the depressive slump in economics had dealt those living in Chicago. Fenris hadn’t heard from them in years, and the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Danarius truly kept his word.

“How long ago did you…”

“15 years.”

Fenris kept his eyes on his hands, looking at the marks there and not wanting to see the pity in Hawke’s face.

“Well, I think the plan here is that we find your mother and sister, we ensure their safety, we possibly kill Danarius, and then you come work with us.” Hawke said bluntly.

Fenris’ shock forced his eyes up to the other man. Hawke was grinning in a way that Fenris would later associate with terrible things happening.

“Although, I think those are all things better saved for a second date. What do you say, Fenris?”

Fenris finished his drink and set the empty glass against the table.

“You’re insane.” He replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm still at amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come over to amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com if you'd like to chat, or tell me how awful my knowledge of Prohibition era Chicago is! <3


End file.
